What's wrong, Blaine?
by Z.R. Bloomfield
Summary: AU. Anderberry Siblings. Blaine has a secret.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first part of a two-part story that is in the same 'verse as "Miss Lizzie and Mr. Burt," which I posted yesterday. This is the backstory for Rachel and Blaine Anderson, who are twins. This is set pre-season 1, during the spring of their freshman year. Reviews are always nice! Enjoy!**

**xoxo Z.R.**

* * *

><p>When Rachel was little, all she wanted was a sibling. To be specific, she wanted a sister: one that she could dress up, have tea parties with, and have to singdance/etc. back-up for her at all times whenever she was inspired to give a performance. Anything was better than having a brother.

Blaine was, in her opinion, a nuisance. He intruded on all her sleepovers, threw dirt at her during recess, and caused problems. The only redeeming thing about him was that he could sing, and even that bothered her, because there was a very good chance he was better than her.

They went to the same elementary and middle school, but when the time came for high school, both Rachel and Blaine insisted that they be enrolled at separate schools. Rachel couldn't deal with the competition and Blaine couldn't deal with Rachel, period.

"Blaine, for god's sake, you've been in there for almost half an hour! I need to take a shower!" Rachel pounded on the bathroom door, looking livid. She'd just gotten back from ballet, and her hair was still pinned up in a bun and the gel she used to slick the shorter hair back was starting to crack and itch.

"Rachel, shut up!" He shouted through the door. Rachel frowned. Blaine sounded muffled, like he had something pressed to his face. Rachel turned the knob cautiously, and discovered that he hadn't locked the door. The door swung open.

Blaine had a bruise blossoming just below his left eye, which he was pressing a damp towel to. He was rummaging through Rachel's drawer—she'd kill him over that later—and a box of band-aids was spilled over the countertop.

"Blaine, what happened?" She asked, shocked. She closed the door behind her, and sat him down on the closed toilet.

"Got in a fight," he mumbled, trying to swat her hands away from his face.

"Stop it, or I'll go get Mom," she threatened. He dropped his hands and she got a good look at his face. "Has this been happening a lot?" When he didn't answer, she glared at him. "Blaine, why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't tell me about the slushies," he pointed out.

"That doesn't give me a black eye—what are you looking for in my drawer?"

"Makeup," he muttered. "Gotta cover this up." Rachel sighed and dug through her drawer before producing concealer.

"You gotta take it off before you go to sleep tonight. I'll fix it in the morning if you want," she told him, and dabbed at the bruise until it was gone.

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" He asked as she put away the makeup and started cleaning up the counter.

"For once, no," she told him. "You tell me what happened when you're ready." She looked at him, and ran a hand through his hair. "Seriously. I won't tell Mom and Dad."

* * *

><p>It was late when Blaine finally worked up the courage to go into his sister's room. He knocked on the door quietly before opening it to find her sitting up, wide awake, flipping through a songbook. Rachel looked up as he closed the door behind him. He stood by the door for a second, before Rachel waved at him and jerked him out of his thoughts.<p>

"Are you okay?" she asked, marking her page in the book and setting it aside and motioning for him to sit next to her.

"Not really," he said. The bruise would be harder to cover up in the morning: it had gotten progressively darker since she'd found him that afternoon.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He looked at her with the most heartbreaking expression Rachel had ever seen. "Blainey, what's wrong?"

"Mom and Dad are gonna hate me," he mumbled, rubbing at his uninjured eye.

"What? Why? Because you got in a fight? Blaine, they won't care about that. Well, I mean, they will, but not—"

"Rachel, I didn't get in a fight." Rachel frowned.

"Then how did you get the black eye?"

"Kid punched me at school today."

"Blaine, one would call that a fight."

"It wasn't a fight because I didn't hit him back." Rachel tried to make him look at her, but his eyes stayed glued to the carpet. He sniffed, as quietly as possible, but she still heard him.

"Blaine, how long have they been hurting you?" He stiffened. "It's been going on for a long time, hasn't it? When did it start?" Blaine stayed silent for a long time, until—

"Sixth or seventh grade." Rachel's jaw dropped.

"What? _Middle_ school? Blaine William Anderson, why the _hell_ didn't you tell me?" She swatted at his shoulder, and he winced. She noticed, but didn't say anything.

"You were busy."

"I'm never too busy for you, do you understand? You're a pain, but you're my brother, and I swear to _God_ I will—"

"Rach, I don't want you involved, please don't. The last thing I need is them thinking that I have my sister fight for me." He took a deep breath. "They already think I'm a fairy anyway," he muttered, so quiet she almost hadn't heard him.

"What?"

"Rachel, I need you to promise to not tell Mom and Dad what I'm about to tell you, and I really don't want to tell you, but you're kind of the only person on my side at the moment and I'm really fucking scared and—"

"Blaine, just spit it out."

"Rachel, I'm…I'm gay." Rachel looked at him. He was practically curling in on himself now, knees up to his chest, ankles crossed, arms around his legs. His chin rested on the crook between his knees and he looked like he was about to start crying.

"Oh, Blainey," she whispered, running a hand through his messy hair. He wiped at his eyes, trying his hardest to not cry in front of his sister. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I—I thought you were going to hate me," he admitted, sounding _so young_, much younger than just ten minutes her junior. She pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him as he clung to her pajamas. "Mom and _Dad _are gonna hate me, oh my God—" And then he started crying. Rachel's heart broke even more than she thought possible, but she didn't dare cry. The last thing Blaine needed was his sister crying, she knew that.

"Blaine, I want you to listen to me right now, okay?" He looked up at her, sniffling and hiccupping. "I will never, _ever_, hate you. I may tell you that I do when you leave the toilet seat up or when you steal my hair products for special occasions, but I don't mean it. So I don't know what Mom and Dad are gonna say when you tell them, but I can promise you that whatever they do, I'll stand by you through it all. And, by the way, I'm pretty sure they won't hate you. Actually, I _know _Mom won't."

"What about Dad?" Rachel bit her lip. Richard Anderson was…difficult to read, she decided. He didn't talk about what was on his mind a lot, just his expectations for the future. He'd had his children's lives planned out ever since they were born, Blaine especially: Ivy Leagues, well-paying jobs, good marriages, lots of grandchildren. Blaine would take over the law firm eventually, and Rachel would have a well-paying job—what that job was, exactly, changed periodically—until she had children, at which point she would become a stay-at-home mom. However, it was becoming increasingly clear—more so in Rachel's case because she had always been more vocal about what she wanted than her brother—that Rachel and Blaine were going to be performers.

"If he tries anything, Mom and I will get him." Rachel leaned around him to the box of tissues on her bedside table and handed it to him. She gave him a sideways look, biting her lip. He looked at her as he wiped his face off.

"What, Rach?"

"Don't get mad at me, okay?" His eyes got huge. "Do you have a boyfriend?" He relaxed, and then gave her an exasperated look.

"Is that really what you wanted to know?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"No. I don't." Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"But you told Mom and Dad at dinner tonight you were going to the Sadie Hawkins dance with someone."

"He's not my boyfriend, Rachel. He's just a friend." Rachel smirked at him. "No, seriously, _just_ a friend. He's out, yeah, but we're not dating or anything. We just thought it'd be fun, that's all."


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy New Year!**

**So, remember how I said that this was going to be two parts? Yeah, there's going to be a third.**

**This chapter is the Sadie Hawkins chapter, and it has been tweaked about a million times because I've been so indecisive about how much I wanted Blaine to get beaten up. I'm sorry in advance for the crappy ending.**

**By the way, if you're wondering what their dad looks like, John Barrowman = Richard Anderson.**

**Thank you to everyone who favorited/alerted/etc. this story! Reviews really do make my day!**

**xoxo Z.R.**

* * *

><p>"Rachel, what time did your brother say we should pick him up?" Richard Anderson stuck his head into his daughter's room, where she was circling articles of clothing she wanted and would order online later. Sometimes she hated how social her brother was: he was at the Sadie Hawkins dance with his "just a friend, Rachel, cut it out," Tyler, while she stayed home, planning her online shopping adventures.<p>

"He said around ten, I thought," Rachel said, not looking up.

"It's nearly ten now," he said. Rachel looked up. "Do you want to come with me to get him?"

"Dad, I'm in my pajamas." Richard gave her an exasperated look. She got up. "Fine, I'll come with you. I'm getting dressed. We can be late."

* * *

><p>Blaine's high school was a half hour away from the Anderson house, in the opposite direction as McKinley, where Rachel attended. When they pulled up to the main entrance of the school, Rachel got out of the car to search the crowds of teenagers waiting for their rides home to find Blaine. She caught the arm of a boy at least a year older than her. He reminded her vaguely of Noah Puckerman, minus the Mohawk.<p>

"Excuse me, have you seen a boy about this tall with a lot of dark curly hair? His name's Blaine, I'm here to pick him up." The boy frowned at her, almost disgusted.

"Do I look like I'd be friends with that fairy?" He shrugged out of her grip. "Find him yourself." He pushed past her. Rachel turned and stared after him, shocked. Was this how her brother was being treated at school? Why hadn't he told her sooner? Then again, he'd only just come out to her barely a week ago.

Rachel pushed through the crowds, maybe a little more desperately, looking for Blaine. She finally found a girl who she knew to be one of Blaine's friends—she'd been over at least once to help with a project and Blaine had tried his hardest to keep her away from Rachel—and caught her wrist.

"It's Jennifer, right?" Rachel said. The girl nodded, slightly wary. "I'm looking for Blaine." Realization dawned on her.

"Oh, you're Rachel! I recognize you from the photo in his locker. I haven't seen him. He and Tyler disappeared about twenty minutes ago. He should be out here somewhere. He had his phone on him. You should call him."

"Thanks." Rachel took off through the crowds again, searching. She noticed a group of boys, kind of like the one she'd stopped, rounding the corner of the school, laughing about something, a few of them cracking their knuckles. She took a deep breath and approached them.

"Excuse me, but have you seen my brother?" They looked at her, semi-interested.

"No, do we know him? More to the point, do we know you?" She rolled her eyes. She didn't have time to deal with people like this.

"No, you don't. I go to McKinley." They exchanged a look of something like amusement. "My brother. He's a little taller than me, and he's got this huge head of dark curly hair." They looked at each other. A few of them started laughing.

"No way," one of them said. "You're the queer's sister? Joe, you were gonna hit on the fag's sister!" He doubled over laughing. Rachel's eyes went huge. Before she knew what was happening, her fist connected with the boy's face, and he was doubled over in pain, hands over the spot where she'd punched him.

"Where's Blaine?" She asked. The remaining boys looked slightly afraid, but their apparent amusement over some inside joke still showed.

"Your faggot brother's that way. You should tell him to keep the fairy dust to himself," one of them said, nodding around the corner and leading their injured friend away. They threw half-threatening glances at her as they passed. Rachel ran around the corner, dialing his number as she did, praying he'd answer his damn phone.

"Blaine!" She shouted, looking around desperately. She stopped when she got his voicemail. She hung up and dialed again, listening for him. She finally heard a faint chorus of "My Life Would Suck Without You" coming from behind a dumpster. She ran around it, and froze at the scene before her.

Blaine was slumped in the corner between the building and the dumpster, beaten and bleeding, his suit ripped up, unconscious. His phone was discarded a few inches from him, like he'd dropped it as he fell. She fell to her knees beside him, and started shaking him gently.

"Blaine. Blaine, please wake up," she whispered. "Blaine." She started getting louder. "Blaine, wake up." His head just lolled to the side. "Blaine William, don't you dare do this to me, get up!" She shouted, her head falling to his shoulder. He groaned and stirred. She sat up, eyes wide. He blinked a few times.

"Rach…?"

"Oh, my god, you're alive. Don't move, Blaine," she said when he tried to get up but couldn't. "Don't move. I have to call Daddy and then an ambulance."

"No, I'm fine, I just—"

"You just _what_, Blaine? You were unconscious next to a dumpster. Do you know how long it could've been before I found you? Before _anyone_ found you?" He looked at her with the saddest eyes she'd ever seen, even sadder than when he came out, and she realized that this was probably because the physical pain had completely surpassed the emotional pain. She dialed their father's number on Blaine's phone.

"Blaine, where are you? Did Rachel find you?"

"Daddy, you need to call an ambulance."

"Rachel? What happened? What's wrong?" Rachel closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, trying not to cry.

"It's Blaine, Daddy."

* * *

><p>Rachel rode with Blaine to the hospital. During the whole ride, he was flitting in and out of consciousness. He was unconscious when they arrived at the hospital, and he didn't wake up as they were wheeling him away to surgery. Richard called their mother as he followed the ambulance.<p>

By some unknown miracle, she kept it together until Susan Anderson showed up at the hospital, at which point Rachel collapsed in her mother's arms and sobbed. Blaine was still in surgery when she arrived, and stayed in surgery for two hours after that. It was nearly three in the morning when they finally heard anything.

"Blaine Anderson?" A doctor carrying a clip board came into the waiting room. Rachel, Susan, and Richard jumped up. "He's awake now. He's asking for Rachel?"

"That's me," Rachel said, stepping forward. "Can I see him?"

"It's probably best. I want to talk to your parents separately, anyway. He's room two-thirteen." Rachel half-ran down the hall to his room.

His right arm and leg were in casts and he was hooked up to an IV and one of those oxygen tubes that went under his nose. She froze in the doorway, unsure.

"Rachel," he said, and Rachel's heart broke for what felt like the millionth time for him. She almost tripped over her feet as she approached the hospital bed.

"Blaine, what—"

"Four cracked ribs," he started, cutting her off. "One broken. A fractured wrist that they had to set in surgery. My leg's broken in two places, and apparently I've got a huge concussion. I'm on like four different painkillers or something so I'm probably gonna pass out as soon as Mom and Dad get in here."

"Are you going to tell them?" She asked.

"Why should I?"

"Blaine, you could have died tonight. What are you gonna say, they just decided to beat you up?"

"That's pretty much what happened, so yeah, I think I am!" His heart monitor started beeping quicker. They both glanced at it.

"Blaine, you can't hide this from them forever," Rachel said, fighting to keep her voice down for once in her life. "And, to be perfectly honest, they kind of _can't_ get mad at you. I mean, you're in the hospital." He glanced around for a second, a look of almost disgust on his face.

"Rach, I just want to sleep." She leaned back. This wasn't over, they both knew it, but she also knew it was best to just let him have his way for once.

"Okay. I'll tell them that you fell asleep. But Blaine, you need to tell them." He nodded. She headed for the door, and turned back right before she went back to their parents to look at her brother, who already had his eyes closed. She closed her eyes, exhaled through her nostrils, forced back tears, and walked back into the hallway to find her mother.


	3. Chapter 3

**This is the third and final chapter in "What's wrong, Blaine?". As of right now any sequels are merely ideas and have not in any way been fleshed out. **

**Just so you know, this chapter took me for freaking ever because the scene with his dad was impossible to write for me and then the scene at Dalton kept changing its mind about how it wanted to play out. However, I do like how this turned out and I really hope you do, too!**

**Thank you to everyone who favorited, reviewed, alerted, etc. this story!**

**Reviews are always nice!**

**xo Bloomfield.**

* * *

><p>Blaine stayed in the hospital for four days after arriving. When he went home, he outright refused to go to school. Susan sided with him. For a second, Blaine thought she might know, but Rachel swore up and down that she didn't tell, and Susan didn't confront him.<p>

One week after going back home, Rachel barged into his room right after getting home from school.

"You have to tell them," she told him immediately.

"Well, hi to you, too," Blaine said. "Can you pass me that book over there? Mom's gonna have a conniption if she finds out I got out of bed without her." He rolled his eyes. Rachel handed him the book he wanted and then stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed, looking disapproving.

"Blaine, you need to tell them. They deserve to know. You can't hide in here forever!" He glanced up at her.

"Actually, I'm doing a pretty good job of doing that if I do say so myself, so I think I'll just continue on with it."

"You have to go back to school eventually. And if you don't go back to that school, they'll send you to McKinley. The gay kid at my school has it even worse, and he's not even out of the closet!"

"Well, neither was I!"

"You took a boy to Sadie Hawkins, Blaine. You were out." He gave her an exasperated look.

"You can't be good for my recovery."

"I'm your sister. I don't necessarily need to be good for it."

* * *

><p>To say that Richard Anderson thought that his wife was babying their son too much was an understatement. He was a firm believer in resting being the key to recovery, sure, but how long was Susan going to let their son sit at home? The ribs were nearly healed, for God's sake, and Blaine had crutches. He got around the house just fine. School <em>couldn't<em> be that much harder.

He got home that evening exhausted from dealing with the stupidity that seemed to inhabit his clients. Maybe he was just on the wrong side of the courtroom. He wondered how he could attract his clients' opponents. They seemed much smarter…

"Mom, Dad, I need to tell you something," Blaine said suddenly in the middle of dinner. Susan looked at him. Richard looked up. Rachel watched the scene expectantly.

"What is it, honey?" Susan asked.

"There's a reason those guys came after me and Tyler that night." Rachel had almost forgotten about Tyler. Apparently the boys that had beaten Blaine up had more friends, and they'd gotten Tyler on his own just around the corner. The difference was Tyler knew how to fight, and had gotten a few good punches in, according to him. Still, he'd been in the hospital for a few days with a concussion and a few broken bones, but not quite as bad as Blaine. Rumor had it he and his family were moving to Wisconsin.

Susan watched her son cautiously. He normally stayed up in his room during dinner these days. He always appeared to be asleep when she sent Rachel up to get him, but she was almost positive that he was never asleep.

"What reason, honey?" She asked, leaning back in her chair just a little bit. Her eyes flickered to her husband briefly, wondering if he knew anything of this. After all, he had been the one to call for an ambulance, although Rachel had been the one to find Blaine. She looked at her daughter, who was watching Blaine with her perfect masked expression that would never in a million years give anyone anything about what she was thinking.

"You love me, right?" Blaine said suddenly, looking at his parents. "I know Rachel does, but you two—"

"Of course we love you, Blaine. Where's this coming from?" He looked at Rachel, who nodded encouragingly.

"Mom, Dad, I—I'm gay."

The table descended into silence. Rachel looked at their parents, watching them, waiting for a response. When nothing came, she decided to tell them.

"Blaine told me a week before Sadie Hawkins. It's why people have been bullying him at school and why he didn't tell you anything about his date to the dance. Tyler was his date." She thought she saw Richard's jaw clench, but she kept going. "I've already told Blaine this, but I don't care. It doesn't change who he is to me and it shouldn't change that for you."

"Rachel, could you excuse us for a moment? I think we'd both like to talk to Blaine for a second," Richard said after another excruciating moment of silence. Susan looked at him, and then at her son, and smiled at him. It reminded Blaine of when he was younger and he came home from school and she had a snack waiting for him, and afterwards she'd help him with his homework.

"Blaine, thank you for telling me. I love you. Stop by our room later, I have the laundry in there. Rachel, come help me fold it." Susan got up and cleared her plate, Rachel following behind her. Susan walked to the back staircase, and as she passed the table she dropped a kiss on the top of Blaine's head. Pure, utter, relief poured from his scalp down to the rest of his body as he watched his sister and mother go up the stairs, leaving him alone with his father. He faced him, the relief evaporating as he was fixed with his father's unrevealing stare.

"Dad, I—"

"Blaine, how long have you known?" Richard interrupted him. Blaine stared at him. "How long?"

"A-about three years." It was his father's turn to stare. "Well, maybe a little less, but—three years."

"Do you have any idea what this means for us? For your sister? For _me_?" Richard said, getting worked up. "What's going to happen when I have work people over? What are they going to say when they find out that Richard Anderson has a gay son?"

"How does this affect Rachel?" Blaine asked. "She doesn't care. She's the first person I told."

"How is she supposed to become a well-rounded lawyer when—"

"Dad, she's not becoming a lawyer," Blaine interrupted, annoyed. Richard's current fantasy was that his children would take over the law firm he ran, although from the way he was talking it now sounded like everything was riding on Rachel now. "She _hates_ it. She doesn't want to spend all her time in an office or in a courtroom. She's gonna be a star, Dad. Have you been to any of her shows? She's amazing, and if you'd listen to her sing, you'd know."

"I hear her sing all the time. She never stops, usually. But that's beside the point. You're going to tarnish the Anderson name, and I can't have that."

"You're the only person in this house that thinks like that. Mom doesn't care. Rachel doesn't care. You're the only one who has a problem with my being gay." Richard fixed him with a hard stare. Three weeks ago, Blaine would've crumbled under a look like that. But he'd had the crap beaten out of him. He was much more afraid of the football team, falling on pavement, and hurting something that was already injured than a slightly lethal look from his father.

"You're not the son I raised," Richard said, standing up and clearing his place, leaving Blaine alone at the table. Blaine just sat there, staring into space, trying to figure out what his father meant. A door slammed shut, but Blaine didn't notice.

Rachel, however, did. She got up from the spot on her parents' bedroom floor where she'd been folding clothes and went downstairs. The office door was shut, a telltale sign that her father was not to be bothered for the rest of the night. Blaine was alone at the table, his plate still in front of him.

"Blaine?"

"He hates me," he said, not taking his eyes off the spot on the wall. "He hates me. Because I was honest. The one thing he taught us since we could talk: 'be honest.' Look where it got me, Rachel." He turned and looked at her through the tears he refused to shed. "He hates me now, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Blaine, I'm sure he—"

"Rachel, all he fucking cares about is his stupid job and his goddamn reputation! He even brought _you_ into the argument, some bullshit about how you're gonna be a lawyer or something—he doesn't even try to pretend to agree with what you wanna do with your life, he just goes around like one day it'll all work out for him and he'll have the perfect family." He faced front again, staring at the wall. Rachel sat down in the chair previously occupied by their mother. She rested a hand on top of Blaine's fist, which was clenched into the cloth placemat under his plate.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I can't begin to imagine how you feel, so I won't say I know, but I really am sorry." She glanced at the staircase, and then looked back at him. He still refused to meet her eyes. "Mom and I have been talking. She's worried about you, Blainey. She thought something was wrong, but I told her I couldn't tell. She—she's looking at that school Dalton, in Westerville?" Blaine finally met her gaze. Rachel was almost impressed with how he hadn't cried yet. "It's got a zero-tolerance bullying policy. You'd be safe there." She hesitated for a second, almost trying to decide whether or not to include the next part. "They've—got a choir. It's a good one. I looked them up online. If they allowed girls, I'd be first choice for the lead soloist, but since they don't, you'll have to do."

"Rachel, what are you talking about?"

"I've heard you sing in the shower," she said almost immediately after he asked the question. "You're really good, Blaine. I mean, your tone could use a little work, and your song choice leaves much to be desired, but you're good. You should audition when you go there."

"You make it sound like I'm already in."

"Well, you will be. They're the perfect school for cases like yours," Rachel said matter-of-factly.

"So what, I'm just supposed to wait out the rest of the year at that hell-hole and start at that school in September?"

"I'm not sending you back to that school," Susan said, walking down the stairs. "I could see about transferring you, but I really don't think it'd be a good idea so late in the year."

"Mom, I just don't want to go back." She nodded, running her hands through his hair in a vain attempt to smooth it down.

* * *

><p>Blaine didn't go back to school for the remainder of the term: it was too late to transfer and it was already the end of April. He healed. He went to physical therapy. He played piano all hours of the day while Rachel was at school and his parents were at work. His father more or less ignored him.<p>

That summer, he and his father rebuilt a car. Blaine didn't change, like he suspected his father wanted him to. He went with his parents to the meetings about transferring. When the admissions people at Dalton found out he'd missed finals and therefore didn't have enough credits to pass freshman year, they told him he'd have to repeat it. Susan tried to show him the bright side of this in the car on the way home: "Blainey, it's a hard school to get into. Maybe retaking ninth grade will give you an edge, and you'll get even better grades."

In August, he got a haircut, exchanging shaggy, almost hipster curly hair for a clean, gelled-back style that made Rachel think of black-and-white movies. She almost didn't recognize him. Who was this boy—no, man, he'd hit a growth spurt and was officially taller than her, not to mention the sudden outbreak of puberty that had his voice officially an octave lower without a crack in conversation—living in her house, in her brother's room?

A week before McKinley started school, the Andersons drove to Westerville to drop Blaine off at his dorm. Rachel organized his closet, hanging up crisp navy blazers and freshly-pressed pants. She sat on his desk while their mother pestered him about the state the bathroom he'd be sharing with a currently faceless roommate would be in when she visited again. She watched through the open door into the hallway as boys rushed around, still in street clothes, carrying boxes of their things for the new school year. Rachel turned her attention back to her brother, who was saying something about the blazers not being in the right order (weren't they all the same?).

"Whoa." Rachel's head snapped back to the door. A blond boy, about the same age as them, was standing in the doorway, surveying the scene as Susan Anderson tried to help her son reorganize his blazers and shirts. Rachel uncrossed her legs and got off the desk.

"You must be Jeff Sterling," she said, hopping off the desk and holding out a hand. "I'm Rachel, Rachel Berry. Not a word, Blaine," she called over her shoulder. She'd decided at the start of her freshman year that she would need a stage name, since Rachel Anderson sounded, in her opinion, like a doctor's name. Rachel Berry was the name of a _star_. Besides, it was her middle name, anyway. It wasn't too far of a stretch. Upon hearing this when she first came up with the idea, Blaine burst into laughter and didn't stop for several minutes. She could practically hear his eyes roll every time she introduced herself as Rachel Berry.

"Rach, honey, we should probably go. Blaine's got everything under control," Susan said. Rachel scowled, but Susan ignored her. Instead, she hugged Blaine. "I'll see you in a few weeks. Call me if you need anything." Rachel looked at her brother.

"We're going out for coffee as soon as you get home," she told him, hugging him quickly and following her mother out, but not quickly enough to hear Jeff say, "Dude, that's one hell of a girlfriend you've got." She stopped and waited.

"That's my sister, actually. No girlfriend." Rachel leaned against the wall, waiting to hear more, if there was more.

"Oh." A pause. "A boyfriend, then?" It was hesitant, but not unkind. Unsure, like he was trying to figure Blaine out. _Good luck, Jeff. Even I haven't, and we're twins._

"Not anymore, no. Don't really need one, either." Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She _hated_ hearing her brother sound so alone. He needed someone. She opened her eyes and realized that her mother was almost down the hall, and she ran to catch up with her.


End file.
